The Prologue
by InkyStake
Summary: 'Cause that's all I seem to write around here. Imagined novelisation of the DF prologue, until Oaklore.


Disclaimer: The DragonFable RPG and NPCs do not belong to me.

* * *

His name was Soll. His mother had named him for the sun against his father's wishes. His father had wanted to name him Dave. Dave the 15th of that name. His mother compromised and tacked another 'l' onto his name saying now it had four letters - the same as the name his father, Dave the 14th , had wanted. His father's family had grumbled but his mother was a force of nature. Not literally of course. _Those_ kinds of nature forces lived in the mountains far to the north where the greatest of all mages lived.

Warlic the Mage. His chest felt near to bursting when he thought of meeting that famous personage. The great mage was said to frequently have work for adventurers and those who wanted to make a name for themselves frequently kept on the lookout, for Warlic wandered Lore and not one person could hold his location for long.

But that had changed, it seemed. There were rumours that the mage himself had created a permanent portal to his travel tent in Falconreach, the town on the Great Bay. That was where the name Soll would be known. He was quite thankful to his mother for his name. A Dave would have stayed in the small lumber town he was born in and become a mill worker like his father.

Well, he did actually become a mill worker. But no more! He was putting the village behind him and becoming one of the roving adventurers that traveled the lands of Lore. He would finally see the places from his mother's stories, take a chance to see the forgotten dangers that lurked in the deepest Surewould wilds, travel the mysterious dunes of the Sandsea that lay to the west, see the walking undead that remained of drake descendants in the far north, maybe even see the floating city! His mother had lived close to the mechanicals of Popsprocket and said they were very odd. He wished see what oddness they had and why they were odd. Mother never told.

His mother was not a traveller but she was learned. She said she had once been a scribe to a loremaster in one of the forts beholden to the priestess in Sunbreeze Grove. She heard of many adventurers that way, she even had a pair of twin daggers that had belonged to one. The fort she had been in was attacked by bandits and a man had thrust the daggers into her hands, telling her flee and that the fort was finished. She told him how she ran with the other survivors, dodging bandits and the beasts of the woods that had been agitated by the commotion. They had been traveling for two days when they came across the village. Her companions had continued, she had stayed.

She taught him to read and write the many words in the only two books she owned – one was a chronicle of the adventures of a mage and the other a brief history of Lore – even though his father had called them foolish scribblings. Dave the 14th declared that a man only needed to know how to write his name and enough of letters to see that he was not being cheated.

Soll wanted more for himself. Something like life had flamed through him as his mother told her stories. That _something_ had dampened on his mother's death but it had not fully gone. It endured, like hidden embers of a seemingly dead fire.

His father would not know that it was his own actions had made Soll awaken that something again. He had given his father one year already. A year sawing logs and felling trees. Seeking out an engagement with the the shopkeeper's daughter meant that Dave wanted his son tied to the village for the rest of his life.

The thought of being chained, like that dog belonging to the hunter that lived a ways from the village, terrified him. He wanted to travel, to see the world, to _live_. He cut and ran toward the promise of that freedom, his mother's twin daggers belted to his side and a small bag containing provisions and his mother's books - his books now - secured to his back.

He didn't think he had the talent to be a mage but a warrior only needed his wits and the strength of his hand. After a year at the lumber mill, he had grown strong. Strong enough to be a warrior, he hoped.

A month traveling the wilds from his village had sharpened his instincts. He'd found a sword - not too bad when he scratched most of the rust off and sharpened it - and he'd been polishing his skills against the animals that had attacked him as he walked. He'd sell the pelts in the first town he came across. The smaller villages had their own hunters and no need for his spoils. He had traded away his old clothes and a beautiful golden fox fur for the sturdy boots and the midnight-blue-coloured light armour he had on now.

It was a fair trade. He didn't look like a mill worker who just happened to have a sword. He looked like a real warrior now. His heart beat strongly at the thought. Falconreach was maybe a week away. Finally, he could be the adventurer he always wanted to be. He stepped to the edge of the cliff and breathed in the air, smiling. Fame and fortune had never been so close. Bring it on, Lore!

 **Shwoomph. Shwoomph. Shwoomph.**

The rhythmic sound filled him with alarm. It sounded like something huge. What in the world? He looked up to see the massive form swoop by him at speeds he didn't know existed. His knees quailed a bit as the dragon landed in front of him. A dragon. He'd only seen one in a book. Somehow it didn't look quite so large then.

He wasn't ready to fight a _dragon!_

 _Is this the extent of your adventuring then_ , a voice in his head asked snidely. _Will you go back and tend to your father-in-law's shop?_

No! He was not going to be an unknown in an unknown village. He was going to be a great warrior. He pulled the sword from the makeshift sheath he'd worked out of animal skin. This was a test of his worth. He stood firm, sword ready.

The dragon scoffed. Scoffed! Could a dragon even do that?

It lowered its wings and Soll gawked. There was a woman on the dragon's back. A woman. On the _dragon's_ back.

She was beautiful, he thought. Dressed in white and gold robes, her face in the slight shadow of her hood, she was beautiful. He wondered what her face would look like in full sunlight.

The dragon moved and took Soll's attention again. He gripped his sword tighter. He noticed a red thing with a twig that looked like a mutated rabbit beside the woman. It walked across the dragon's neck casually to stand beside Soll on the cliff edge. Across the _dragon's_ neck!

"The way is safe, priestess," it said.

Soll lowered his sword in astonishment. What was happening? Surely he had not fallen off the cliff when the dragon showed up and hit his head?

The woman stood gracefully and stepped forward. Her eyes, kind and captivating, met Soll's. She spoke. "Please pardon us friend, we are just passing through."

Soll could not speak, held in place by those eyes. He shook his head slightly. She smiled softly, walked forth and passed him without another word. He couldn't even move to turn and watch her walk away.

The dragon looked at him.

What?

Dragon.

Oh, right. Wait, what?

 **Dragon.** Staring. Big, yellow, malicious eyes. He gasped and brought his sword to bear again. The dragon widened his mouth in a yawn of contempt and snapped his teeth shut on the sword. It broke, the pressure too much for the rusted blade. Soll immediately dropped the broken hilt and grabbed his daggers. With a sneer of amusement, the dragon _bastard_ leaped into the air with far too much ease for a creature so large.

Soll stared, eyes wide. What just happened?

He watched the creature become a speck in the sky. Then he grinned widely. He'd just seen a dragon. A real live dragon! Not a meter from where he stood! He laughed, a wild excitement flaring up inside him. Thanks, Lore, for giving me a taste of what waits in the world.

He wanted more now, to see more of the land. Maybe the woman could tell him why she was riding on dragon-back? He had the feeling it would be an excellent tale. He ran after her.

 **~oo00oo~**

She couldn't have gotten far. Sure enough, he heard her voice.

"Oh my, who could have put this carpet in the middle of the forest?"

A high, squeaky voice answered in alarm. "It's not a carpet, it's a gorillaphant!"

A carpet? Oh, how innocent must a woman be to think a wild, rage-filled forest demon was an inanimate floor covering. He must protect her! He ran faster.

"I will protect you, priestess!" squeaked the second voice again. He skidded to a stop when the red rabbit mutant thing soared to the air and plopped to the ground before him. It sat up, dazed.

"Er..."

The gorillaphant roared. Soll's leg moved before he could think and the red bunny mutant flew back with a wail. It hit the monster right in the schnozz. Sorry, little guy, he thought as he charged in the wake of the flying red bunny...thing. In the contest of red rabbit mutant or the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his entire life, there was no need to vote.

The gorillaphant was large and strong but it was slow. Soll avoided a massive paw the size of a tree trunk and stabbed his daggers into the animal's neck. It roared madly. Maybe he had been a tad bit hasty with the kick-the-bunny-into-its-face thing? Unfortunately, the thick fur was a hindrance and his blades didn't get far. He rolled away. A paw thudded into the ground. Did it just cause a localized groundquake? Wow. Marvel later, he admonished himself, it's trying to kill you!

Soll kept aiming at the first spot he hit, dancing away as the creature tried to hit him with tree-trunk-like arms, watching as the gouts of gorillaphant blood welled up faster until the creature swayed and fell over from blood-loss.

Blood was pounding in his ears and his limbs were still tense from the fight. He'd never fought something this large before. Well, there was that bear a week ago but it was half-dead from falling into a ravine. The priestess was saying something to him, then talking to the red thing. He shook his head to clear the adrenaline.

"What?" he asked numbly. He'd just beaten a gorillaphant. That was a new one for him. The woman – a priestess? - was talking to him about a Captain Rolith and a shortcut. The red creature said something. She glanced at Sol oddly. Was she asking him to do something? He nodded. She smiled at him and the blood cleared from his ears.

"I am certain that our paths will cross again," she said and hurried away. "Farewell, rogue."

Okay?

She didn't even thank him. Or ask his name. She called him a rogue too. Did she think he was a mercenary? She looked busy but still.

Well, whatever.

He looked around and saw the gigantic tree first. Did everything in Lore need to be massive? The tree had a number of protrusions that looked like stone. He moved closer and saw that it was just the upper reach of a stone keep. It's Oaklore, he realized. It had to be. It was the only significant fortification this close to Falconreach. He'd been in Oaklore Forest and had not known it.

Maybe he should have been using the roads instead of traveling in a straight line to Falconreach? If people know that the shortest way between two points was a straight line, why did they make the roads to curvy and winding and generally increasing travel time, he groused. How hard could it be to ford that ravine, or make a bridge on that cliff, or clear out the gorillaphants and the unicougars and the sneevils and the goblins and the furies and the...

Okay so they may have had a point. The sheer number of ruins on Lore did tell a silent tale of the difficulties living with the elementals active and the deeper forests near sentient.

No matter. He might as well spend the night. He needed to wash the blood off.

Speaking of blood, he took out a knife and started to skin the gorillaphant. Oaklore surely had some use for this and the rest of the animal skins he had cached last night.

 **~oo00oo~**

Two hours later, he was elated from the coin jingling in his pocket. He had received more than he ever thought. Twenty-two gold coins was a fortune when he had been expecting less than ten. Apart from making clothes, his buyer told him that the fur was useful in padding armor and stuffing pillows. Apparently, soft fur pillows were all the rage in the kingdom. The hide was used for everything from clothing to bookbinding. If he didn't want to be a warrior so much he could have a good living as a hunter.

He quickly paid for a room at the inn, washed up and started looking around the town. The keep was so...well-kept because a group of knights made their home here. The town that was near the keep flourished because of their protection. He headed for the keep, where the innkeeper said he could find the Rolith he was supposed to talk to.

He walked to the helmed knight that was guarding the gates. "Excuse me. Are you Captain Rolith?"

The man turned and stared at him. "Who are you to ask?"

He didn't think one needed to be a knight to enter the keep. There were people in town who talked about coming here to trade after all. The man's gaze pierced into him. "Soll. I have a message for him."

The knight nodded solemnly. "He is inside." The knight straightened to stand tall beside the gates again. Soll waited for him to say something. Nothing. Then he realized the man expected him to go in.

"Oh! Er, thanks."

Was that the gravity of a knight? The dignity? He walked inside and immediately knew which of the armoured men was the captain. He was cloaked in an impressive air, his fair hair as shining as the gold on the rune-axe he bore. He was staring at the keep entrance, obviously waiting for something.

Soll made his way to him. "Captain Rolith?"

The man turned to him. "Greetings, I have not seen you here before. Welcome to Oaklore Keep, home to the honourable Knights of the Pactogonal Table. Might I help you?"

That spiel was...hmm. He wondered what the pactogon was and why it had a table. Now that he was here, in front of this impressive knight, he remembered that he actually hadn't heard what the message was. He reddened. He floundered.

"Ah, there was this priestess..."

Rolith focused on him intensely. "The Lady Celestia? You have seen her? Where?"

"The forest. She said something about a shortcut?"

"Are you certain it was the priestess?"

"Well, the red mutant rabbit called her a priestess."

"Mutant?"

"It was holding a twig?"

"Ah," the knight said. "The moglin, Twilly. But why have you not come sooner? If she had stopped by, she would have known not to venture into the woods. It's crawling with bandits looking for her! You know where she has gone? You must go after her! I will rally the knights and follow."

"But..."

"Go!"

Soll went, feet quickly bringing him out the gate once more. He still had the armour and the daggers, he could fight. He felt it was his fault for not thinking that a woman alone in a forest would be in danger. After all, had he not just killed a gorillaphant that was threatening her? He ran up to the faint trail that was the 'shortcut' and plunged into the woods, his senses alert. He ran along the faint path, hoping he was not too late. The brush whipped against him as he rushed onward, eyes on the faint but clearly trodden trail. Where was the priestess?

"Give us the box and we will not kill you!"

There!

He broke into the clearing as the man threatening the priestess raised his sword. He was so stupid, Soll groaned in realisation. He was just in the headquarters of a whole order of knights, for Lore's sake. Why did he not ask them for a spare sword or something? Surely seeing a dragon had not scrambled his reason that much?

"Soll!" the priestess gasped as he rushed in front of her. "We must protect the box at all costs!"

A _box_?

He looked at the box. Whoa, that was some box.

It looked heavy, made of a black material, trimmed with thick gold and embossed with a menacing dragonhead sigil. He glanced at the priestess. Now he remembered her carrying it so easily.

His brain started working. If they were still this close to the keep then she'd been accosted not long after she entered the forest. She'd held off a group of bandits that long? What were the odds that she wasn't _just_ a priestess?

High, he answered to himself. If she was protecting the box, then it wasn't _just_ a box either. He knew what magic was, how dangerous it was. The story of a mage that was one of the two books he owned certainly put into perspective the pitfalls that came with that power. His grip on his daggers firmed as he glared at the leader of the bandits.

The bandit leader glared back. "My name is Drakath!" he said forcefully. He went on to say he led the Darkwolves, which was apparently the name of the bandit group. Even Soll had heard of the Darkwolf bandits. They were the most powerful outlaw group in Lore. "I am the rightful ruler of this land."

That, he hadn't heard though. He didn't know if it was true. Lore was a kingdom built on the ruins of kingdoms that had come before. So there may be truth in what the man was saying. The bandit was going on about going to use the box to take his throne. "There's no way a _peasant_ like you can keep it from me. Stand down or be blown away by the great winds of my destiny."

"Destiny?" Soll scoffed. "What destiny has a common criminal have other than a life in the dungeons of the _real_ king's castle."

Destiny? Soll was going to be a warrior for the land of Lore. He had fought and bled for what little skill he had and he knew he was going to sweat and bleed more to become a person worthy enough to stand before legends. Destiny would have him in the lumberyard and yet here he was, opposing a bandit prince in defense of a priestess and her box.

Where was the moglin thing?

Wait, what? Why was he thinking of the red bunny-eared creature? He shook the inane thought away and focused on the enraged man before him.

"Get him!"

Two other bandits dropped down from the trees. They held wicked looking staves that were capped by a studded metal cylinder. This was going to be painful.

A warrior charged forward. So he did.

Drakath's massive sword stopped his first strike. Seriously, that sword was over half the man's height. He must be exceedingly strong to be able to wield it easily. He felt something hit him in the torso just under his ribs. He leaped away in time to avoid the staff held by the second bandit.

He dodged again and again. The two underlings were fast. His body felt like it had been pulped by the staves they held. Drakath was slower but his attacks were so much stronger. Soll hammered the hilt of his dagger against a bandit's head. The guy dropped to the forest floor unconscious. He'd probably pay for that later but he had never killed another human being before. He wasn't going to start now.

Soll crouched and then tumbled past the fallen body to avoid the second bandit's strike. Drakath turned, a beat too late.

He knew it! The bandit prince's sword was just too heavy. He avoided the swinging blade and went for the other underling. He smiled as the underling bandit was rendered just as unconscious as the first. Abruptly, pain erupted along his back.

"You fight like a farmer, peasant. A real warrior does not take his eyes from the enemy nor stop to gloat at their fall!"

The two-handed sword may have been unwieldy but it was powerful. There was a suspicious slickness under his back armour that accompanied the pain. "Guess you're not a real warrior then," Soll gasped as he stumbled away.

Drakath roared. Soll could actually hear his sword cut the air as it neared. He brought his daggers up even though he knew they would be no match against the force of that swing. So he didn't use it to catch the descending sword, he stabbed Drakath in the arm. Then flung himself away from the path of the sword even as he desperately slashed at the man's thigh.

Drakath roared again, in pain this time, while he dropped to a knee. Soll made himself move backward, away from the man. Drakath picked up the sword but they both knew that his bleeding limbs couldn't take its weight anymore.

"Impossible," the bandit grit out. "You got lucky!"

"Lucky? Please. Guess your destiny was to be defeated by a peasant." Soll allowed a smug smile to grace his features as he fought to keep himself upright. " _This_ peasant, in fact."

Soll knew he got lucky. He'd fought bandits before but never more than one at a time and they were not as organized as the Darkwolves were. Drakath wasn't even fighting seriously even if he wanted to kill Soll. He'd dropped his guard thinking the fight was over and that was the only reason Soll was still standing. He wasn't about to agree with Mr. Winds of Destiny there though.

The bandit leader's eyes filled with hate and rage. "This is not over."

He disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

Soll gaped. "You can do that? Why can he do that? That is so a big cheat!"

He whirled at the brief laugh that sounded from behind him. Oh right, the priestess Celestia.

"Magic," she grinned slightly. "is so _not_ a cheat. It is a tool used like any other tool."

"To cheat," he insisted. He leaned casually against a convenient tree, trying to hide that he was battered near beyond his limit.

She laughed again. "Then you might say that every other person in Lore is...cheating. Every day of their lives."

"I guess I _am_ a peasant. We didn't use magic all that much where I came from."

"Maybe you should learn. It _is_ exceedingly useful."

"Me, a mage?" Soll grinned at her, laughing at the thought. "That'll happen."

"This is a land where a bandit might aspire to be a king," Celestia said with a sardonic quirk of her lips. She looked at him and her gaze bore into his eyes. "I believe the honest farmer to be so much more than any man who makes his living through malicious means. By that gauge, a so-called peasant can aspire to be a person of more substance than a mere ruler."

Was she trying to tell him something? His eyes widened and he looked at her in realisation. "You mean I could really be -" her brows rose expectantly " - a star of the stage?"

She paused then stifled a smile. "Certainly. Dear me, _am_ I standing before the next _sensation_? I _must_ get an autograph."

Soll goggled. " _And_ a sense of humour? Oh please, give me just one sign that you aren't that dedicated to your holy duties and I'd be on my knees with a ring."

"You're different than I expected."

She wasn't glaring at him or grimacing in disgust though, so Soll took that at face value.

"Oh, are we talking about that now?" he sallied blithely. "Or how you knew my name when I don't recall telling you?"

She smiled. "By different, I meant from the person who stood gawking at a dragon with a rusted sword in his hand."

Soll winced. "Hoooh yeah, that was stupid. I knew I should have run away." He looked at her. There was still one question not answered. She sighed.

"Can we talk about that some other time?"

He perked up at the implication that they would meet again. Wait. "You know, the last time you said we would meet again ended in me being pummeled like a roll of bread dough."

Her eyes ran over him at that statement.

He smiled brightly at her.

"No," she stated. "That was not a sign."

"Ahah, but something made you think I thought it was a sign."

"You're a man," she deadpanned. "What else could you have been thinking?"

"Oookay, walking injured already here. Please don't make it worse." Soll pulled pitiful eyes on her.

"On second thought, you do that entirely too readily for a man."

Soll broke into a laugh. "I can't win with you obviously. So this is me retreating with whatever dignity remains."

She grinned then her smile softened. "I do thank you for the rescue."

Soll pushed the sudden bashfulness he felt away. "You're alright though? And your box?"

"I am well. Alas, the box was taken by a sneevil while you were busy smack-talking."

He gaped at her. "And you just let me stand there?"

"Well, you were really on a roll. How could I interrupt? I was going to tell you, _then_ you started flirting."

"And how could you interrupt?" he teased. He went on before she could start smacking him down. "Wasn't it important though, the box?"

"Yes. In the wrong hands, it would be devastating." She looked a little worried now. "Unfortunately, I do not have time to chase after it. I will have to ask Rolith and his knights to help."

Oh yeah, where was Rolith? If he was this late to the game...

Soll decided. Wasn't this why he had left all he ever knew. "I'll help."

She looked at him. "You will not be inconvenienced?"

"I was headed to Falconreach but my trip can take longer." He could start his questing here , he thought enthusiastically. It wasn't as if every adventurer got his start with Warlic.

She brightened. "Our objectives converge. I sent Twilly ahead to Falconreach. Find Twilly there, he has friends that would be able to find the Sneevil and the Black Dragon Box. Keep it safe."

That was convenient. Really it was. "And you?"

"I leave the box to you, so I will return home. My tea has steeped far too long as it is. Bye!" She pooffed away.

"...I knew it was a cheat." There was no one to hear him but the dissipating smoke.

"Soll! Is that you?"

On second thought, he was heard by no one but the knights of Late-to-the-Table.

 **~oo00oo~**

"But _t_ _hat's_ why I'm asking for training," Soll said exasperatedly. After he'd been fussed over by one of the knights, who was huffy about him not eating his apple a day, he'd sought out Rolith. He would not be taken down as easily by bandits as Drakath and his Darkwolves did today.

Rolith frowned. "But if the priestess herself gave you a quest..."

"She didn't seem all that worried," Soll muttered.

"Commanders often put on a facade of unworry so as not to incite a spread of fear in their ranks."

"She said she was going to keep her tea from over-steeping."

"Oh."

Hah. Let's see what you make of that, commander of the ranks, Soll thought triumphantly.

Rolith put an armoured had on his shoulder, seemingly have come to a conclusion. "Do not worry, Soll," he said solemnly, sympathetically. "I am certain it is a very great quest. Even the greatest of adventurers start small before -"

That was _not_ what he wanted the knight captain to make of it.

"I don't need pity," he burst out in exasperation. "I need training! Of course I know it wasn't important! She threw it over for _tea!_ That wasn't - !" He whirled on the captain. Was that a snicker he had heard? Rolith's face was serious, focused, and accommodating.

"You were joking," Soll said flatly. No one was that attentive, certainly not a knight out of battle.

"Certainly not. Even I know that commanders often make light of _dire_ situations so as not to -"

Soll sighed. He _was_ being made fun of. "Are you training me or not?"

Rolith smiled genuinely. "For a young man who has the wisdom to know he needs help on his journey, certainly." He stood. "You favour the dagger? My mentor was an aficionado and he taught me a few things. For a real master, there is none at the keep unfortunately. Perhaps in Falconreach -"

"Wait, I'm asking for sword-training. I'm going to be a warrior, not an assassin."

He blinked. "That was not at all what I meant, young adventurer. I apologize for the misconception. You do know dagger skills do not make you an assassin? You fight well with your daggers and I thought you meant to tread the path of the rogue."

"Rogue? The priestess called me that too."

"I see. You are aware of mages and warriors then?" He sat down again. "It is an arbitrary classification, created by the writers of the Daily Dragon, in which they describe adventurers by their fighting style. It is easier to write about them then, according to the scribes. Those who fight primarily by magic are the mages, those who primarily use weapons such as swords and axes are warriors. There are people who do not keep to either classification but tread a middle path and use both weapons and magic, for which they are called rogues. Their fighting style is characterised by agility and cunning."

"And their main weapons are the double-daggers." Soll realised. Huh. His mother was saved by a rogue then?

"Yes. As for your request, I suppose we could use the training short swords. Come, let us see the smith. Do you have enough coin? That armour of yours looks to need replacing."

He perked up. "Sure!"

A shopping trip with a master fighter who could give him tips on the best armour and weapons was something that was not to be passed over. It was like someone had simply dropped a bag of treasure on his lap.

Three hours later, he was despondent. Some bag of treasure that was. Rolith insisted he get the best equipment, always. He was down thirty gold coins. Thirty! That would have paid enough men to build a fair-sized house in his village. He didn't think good equipment cost this much. Even with him surreptitiously looting the unconscious bandits when the knights weren't looking, he only had six gold left.

Only. He nearly laughed that only a month ago, he would have thought himself was rich from six gold. How did adventurers feed themselves on the road? He supposed that was why many took quests from the mages and nobles.

"What is it?" he griped at the weaponmaster who was taking a long measuring look at him.

"Are you certain you want a sword?"

"Yes." he said firmly. Why was everyone and their nun friends questioning his decision? The weaponmaster glanced at Rolith, who was examining an axe on the far side.

"I could sell you a scythe."

Was that another farmer-boy comment? "Pray tell," he said, now forcing politeness. "Where is this scythe that is so excellent you would attempt to force its sale on your customers."

The weaponsmith pointed.

Soll looked. "That's a sword." he said flatly.

"It _looks_ like a sword."

Soll met the weaponsmith's eyes. Neither backed down.

"It's a sword." Soll insisted.

"Will you buy it if it were a sword?"

"Yes."

"It's a sword."

Soll plunked down the gold.

He trudged to Rolith, who straightened as he approached. He looked into the eyes of the knight - up, up into the eyes of the knight – and asked the question that had been bugging him.

"Why do people look at me funny when I say I want a sword?"

"Ah." Rolith said. Soll waited. "Perhaps when you have reached your full growth, the -"

"It's because I'm _short_!?"

 **~oo00oo~**

"I'm not doing that."

Sir Prize looked pleadingly at him. "But it's the Ultimate Prank! That clownish chump Sir Kuss that dares call himself a master prankster will Never see it coming!"

And still you call him by the knightly 'sir'? Soll thought dryly. His image of knights as dignified defenders of the realm had definitely taken a beating in his stay at Oaklore Keep. Well, they could be dignified, like the knight guard that patrolled the gate. After Soll met Sir Prize and a few others of the Pactagonal Table, he thought Sir Curity was kept at the gate to guard the unsuspecting populace from the inhabitants of the keep.

When Rolith had told him he would be taking instruction from the different knights in Oaklore Keep, _this_ was not what Sol had expected.

"In what universe is it the ultimate prank?"

"I'll ask Sir Valence to take you on a Sneevil hunt."

"...I'm still not doing it."

"I'll ask Sir Pernatural to sneak you into the graveyard."

"Rolith would know." He wasn't jeopardizing his training for a jaunt at ghosts. Rolith had already forbidden him from the graveyard until he finished the basics.

"Not if you tell."

"Rolith always knows."

"...true. Damn the man. Hm. How about I accompany you to the ruins?"

Oh, score! He wasn't allowed there without someone at his back. He tried not to show his eagerness. "Deal."

Sir Prize knew anyway.

An hour later, he was explaining to a cackling Sir Prize that the prank had gone a little two well and exhorting the knight to **never** **speak of it to anyone** , especially Sir Kuss. The grinning knight just waved him away, nodding. "A prank is only a master prank when the prankee does not know the specifics," he said.

Dubiously, he just went along with that statement. He left the prankster knight with a note for Sir Valence in his hand. For that note, he told himself it was worth doing **the-thing-that-was-never-to-be-spoken-to-anyone**.

He smiled as Sir Valence read the note and nodded. Finally, after a week cooped in the keep, he would be out hunting monsters!

 **~oo00oo~**

"...and that is why those vile creatures need to be stopped! Are you listening, Soll?"

"Yes, Sir Valence! See sneevil, kill sneevil!"

The knight looked at him suspiciously, then smiled. "Well, at least you're enthusiastic." He pointed down the clearing. "I'm going this way. You go that way. We'll meet here again at sunset."

"Yes, sir!"

"Oh, try not to get too much dirt on that armour. I hear it's new and expensive." The man grinned.

Soll dropped his squared shoulders. "Yeah, yeah." So maybe he had ranted to excess after the knights had got some alcohol into him. He didn't even know something so sweet could have alcohol in it.

"A piece of advice, try uh, rooting around the enemy you defeat. Sometimes, they carry bits of gold in them."

"What?" he stared at the knight. "Why?"

"So you could get better armour and replace the ones -"

"Not _that_. Why would they have bits of gold in them?" There was a terrifying suspicion in his mind.

"Soll, my friend. Lore, for all her beauty, is a terrible, terrible mistress." Sir Valence rhapsodised. "Many who challenge her wonders find that their... _digestion_ is too poor for the repast she sets."

Oh, he said it. He definitely said it. The forest suddenly seemed so much more sinister.

"Don't worry though. Most of those haven't the favour of the knights of the Pactogonal Table!" He spread his arms wide with a smile. "You're lucky in that aspect, Soll."

"I'm very grateful." Truly, he was.

"Think nothing of it. We are knights, we save hapless adventurers from the _jaws_ of evil, or sneevils. Evil sneevils! Now, go forth and massacre the little buggers!"

He went forth, calmly and determinedly, while Sir Valence rushed in the opposite direction. He rounded a tree and saw JAWS.

"Heee!" he gasped.

... a manly gasp.

Oh, who was he kidding? He'd never been in danger of being _digested_ before.

The seedspitter turned toward him and opened WIDE. So very wide. It's mouth could have fit a human. He let out a battle cry and charged. Rolith _did_ say a warcry could inspire the body to greater power.

Two minutes later, he was slightly dusty and there was a seed-shaped mark on his forehead. He stabbed his sword – sword, not a scythe – into the dead plant. It was well and truly dead. He bent and pried open its mouth with his sword and one of his daggers. There was nothing there. He sighed in relief.

The dead seedspitter burped.

"Cripes!" Stab, stab, stab.

The plant went silent. He sighed. Then saw, in the belly of the beast, a glint of gold. Oh Lore, it was all _true_.

A rustle sounded to his right. He whirled and saw the distinctive pointy face of a sneevil. "Come, minion of evil! This just became dog eat dog! I will not be digested!" He leaped.

The sneevil looked a trifle confused but not for long. Because in two seconds, it was dead. Dead dead dead.

Soll panted out a breath, disconcerted at his actions. I mean, that didn't even look like a sneevil anymore.

"Ookay, maybe I shouldn't listen to Sir Valence so much."

Oooh, this one had three pieces of gold.

Lucky!

The end to the fun came when Sir Valence had introduced him to the sneevil box forts. Apparently, the little buggers liked to steal boxes. There were so many sneevils around those that he was just kicking them into unconsciousness and looting them.

After the sneevil lord for the region was defeated, it got so bad that he began to find little bags of gold just inside the clearings where the forts were. Not even the ones with the masks and the toasting forks who were so much better than the rabble came near him anymore.

He was well on his way to becoming the mafia don of Oaklore Forest.

He stopped going sneevil hunting with Sir Valence when _that_ thought entered his head. Those sneevils sure knew how to take the fun out of things.

Then, like they just knew he wasn't paying attention, the sneevil hordes invaded.

 **~oo00oo~**

"Kick it! Kick it!"

"Soll, watch the torches! We're not trying to burn the place down!"

"Ya think yer a Dragonlord? Watch them fires, gorramit!"

"Too many sneevils!"

"Are you sure? An invasion?"

"Take its spear and poke its eyes out!"

"For the Keep!"

"Slash, slash, slash, burn. Slash and burn, slash and burn."

"Sir Valence! Stop singing!"

"Poke, poke, poke, and it went down, down, down."

"Crunch, crunch, crunch, under my boots."

"Soll, don't encourage him!"

"Burn those boxes!"

"I got it, take the group on my tail!"

"No, my tapestries are on fire!"

The defenders looked at Captain Rolith in disbelief. He coughed. "Knights! Fight!"

And they all went back to the carnage. When all was said and done, they were huffing from the fumes, full of tiny little pinpricks from the little buggers' spears, and panting in exhaustion.

And very, very pissed.

"Captain," coughed out a sooty knight. "We are going to counterstrike, right?"

"Of course!"

"Hoorah!"

The counterstrike went...well, it went. There was blood, gore, and guts. More than in the invasion, because Rolith was apparently very, very serious about his tapestries.

The end, yes?

Rolith was happy, the knights were happy, the town was happy with the return of their boxes. Soll learned some very, very awesome double and triple combination attacks from just watching the knights fight. He was very happy.

The only one not happy was the sneevil king, for obvious reasons. One of the biggest was: He was the reason that damned extortionist Soll was bristling with weapons and clad in shiny, shiny new armour.

 **~oo00oo~**

 **AN. I just saw a bookmark on my browser and was feeling nostalgic. Gods, it's been years since I played DF.**

 **The way DragonFable is set up, when you choose a class (mage, warrior, rogue), the weapons you automatically get upon character creation cannot be sold. So Soll is actually, game-wise, a rogue but he's never heard of them in the butt-end of the backwoods so he dreams of being a warrior, which is the only adventurer class he knows other than mage.**

 **As for the scythe scene: mages can only use staffs and wands, warriors can only use swords and axes, rogues can only use daggers in general. The weapons designated as 'scythe' are the only melee weapons that ALL classes can use. And yes, there is a scythe that looks like a sword.**


End file.
